Pyramids
by retrouvaille
Summary: q/s multi chapter fic - when Quinn is diagnosed with cancer, she thinks God hates her. When Santana is dancing on the pole for the 2nd year, she thinks God is ignoring her. But after a while, they realise God works in mysterious ways, and they are so thankful he does.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

**A new Quinntana fic for you all! I haven't written fanfic in about a year, so bear with! Enjoy! Reviews/faves/follows are much appreciated x (and, yes, the inspiration for this fic is indeed the song Pyramids by Frank Ocean!)**

* * *

_The __only job__ you're going to __have__ is working on a pole._

Santana chuckled lightly under her breath, taking another sip of her drink. Jack Daniels; her favourite. Alcohol always makes old memories pop up, whether they be good ones, or bad ones.

_The __only job__ you're going to __have__ is working on a pole._

Another sip. After Rachel Berry had made that delightful comment, Santana was determined to prove her wrong. What right did that little dwarf have, calling her out like that? Okay, sure, she _had _made a few more remarks on her choice of outfit than day than usual but really, people should've been used to it.

_The __only job__ you're going to __have__ is working on a pole._

Santana sighed, gulping down the remains of her drink. She held the glass in her hand, shaking it slightly to hear the ice cubes clink against each other. The music was loud, deafening almost, but she was so used to it, she could clearly hear the ice cubes rattling.

"Another?"

Santana looked up. Jasper, the only bartender she could actually stand, was looking at her expectantly. She looked around, then down at her phone_. 23:57. Friday 14__March. _She shook her head no, although all she really wanted in that moment was another cold glass of Jack Daniels.

"Better not. Can't be late starting."

Jasper nodded in understanding, turning back to the sink to continue washing the glasses. Santana slid off the tall barstool and made her way cautiously to the door that led round to the back of the stage. She pushed it open, the familiar smell of the other girl's perfumes – vanilla, jasmine, lilac, musk, gardenia – quickly filling her nose. So much better than the heady smell behind her, which always made her feel nauseated.

The girls were already there, powdering their faces, pulling on stockings, curling their hair. Santana smiled. This is where she belonged.

"Santanaaaaa!"

Santana turned her head to see Gia rushing toward her, arms outstretched. The other girls turned round to see the commotion, all smiling when they saw who it was.  
"Hey, Santana!" They all chorused out, before turning back to their various primping.

"Ohh, Sanny, Sanny, Sanny, I missed you, baby girl!" Gia shrieked, crushing her friend with a surprisingly strong grip. Santana chuckled, reciprocating the hug, although not as hard.  
"I missed you too, honey! You're looking so good!"

Gia pulled away, her grin never slipping.

"Aw, thanks! You too! I-" Gia was cut short by the familiar siren sounds, signaling for the girls appearance in 2 minutes. "Shit! I'll see you after the show, okay?" Before Santana could reply, the girl was rushing off, managing to somehow not trip in her sky-high heels. Santana chuckled, turning to the mirror to check herself out. She shed her coat and threw it on the nearby pile of various outerwear, leaving her in just her favourite burgundy satin underwear, complete with black stockings. She took a deep breath, before following the line of girls, taking her place at the back.

"_Saving the best for last_" is what her boss always told her. He probably told that to every girl who was placed at the back, but she still got a feeling of pride just from remembering his words.

The siren went off again; promptly stopping the pounding of whatever song had been playing. A different song started playing. Santana wasn't sure what it was – outside of her work, she never listened to the music they usually played there. She was more into indie rock, Arctic Monkeys, Vampire Weekend, Two Door Cinema Club. Stuff a lot calmer and relaxing than the shit she usually heard at work.

"And now, welcome to the stage, the _Cheetahs_!" The line starts moving, and Santana is snapped out of her daze. "We've got Sugar, we've got Bambi, we've got Starr, and Brandy, and Angel, Heaven, Brandi, Crystal." The girls all bounded out, much to the patrons delight.

"And, we've got everybody's favourite…"

_The __only job__ you're going to __have__ is working on a pole._

Santana took a deep breath.

_The __only job__ you're going to __have__ is working on a pole._

"Cleopatraaaa!"

_The __only job__ you're going to __have__ is working on a pole._

Santana immediately became Cleopatra. Favourite at the Pyramids Strip Club. She showed Rachel. Yeah.

_The __only job__ you're going to __have__ is working on a pole._

"Cancer."

It felt weird rolling off her tongue. She repeated it.

"Cancer."

And again.

"Cancer."

And again. And again, and again, and again, and again.

"Cancer, cancer, cancer, cancer-"

She repeated it till it was just a word. A meaningless word that has 6 letters, 2 syllables, begins with a C, ends in an R. Just a word. Just another word. She kept going, saying it over and over again till she was out of breath. Even then, she just took a deep breath and started again.

"Miss Fabray," Quinn jumped, suddenly realizing, of course, she's not alone. She's in the doctor's office, sat uncomfortably on his rock-solid leather chair, nails digging into the heels of her hands. She folded her hands in her lap and looked down. Just like her mother always taught her to do when in the presence of a man. "Miss Fabray, I understand that this…this is a very tough thing to take in. But I want you to know; you are under the best medical care. We will do everything in our power to make you comfortable." Dr White continued tentatively.

"Cool." Quinn nodded, quickly leaping up from her seat. Dr White raised his eyebrows in shock – _cool? _Well, that certainly wasn't a response he usually got from delivering such a bombshell. He also got up, sticking his hand out awkwardly to shake Quinn's. She took it, shaking it quickly, before turning to leave.  
"Next week, right? Right, I'll see you then, Dr. Thanks for everything!" The blonde hurried out, leaving her doctor in her wake, thoroughly puzzled. She must be in denial, he concluded, before sitting down and continuing his paperwork.

"Hey mom. Yeah, if you could pick up the phone, that'd be great. Just thought I'd let you know I have cancer. Yeah. Breast cancer. It's, uh, pretty aggressive apparently. Well, whenever you're done fucking your new boyfriend, call me back, or whatever."

She sighed, checking the time on her phone. _13:21. Friday 14 March_. Rachel would still be rehearsing. Quinn pushed the heels of her hands in her eyes till she was seeing stars, her nails pressing into her forehead. She was leaving marks, she knew it, but she didn't care.

_Cancer._

"Jesus." She breathed, throwing herself down on the sofa. Why her? Had she not prayed hard enough? Missed going to church too often? Maybe it was because she blasphemed one too many times. "Oh God." There she went again. She needed something to drown out her thoughts, so she grabbed her phone and head phones, quickly plugging it in and shuffling her favourite playlist she had made, simply entitled The Never-Skip Songs. The familiar beginning of Step by Vampire Weekend washed over her, and she let out a sigh of relief. A good bit of Vampire Weekend always cheered her up.

"_The gloves are off, the wisdom teeth are out…"_

Ezra Koenig's voice filled Quinn's mind, helping her relax immediately. However, the song was cut short by an incoming call. Rachel.

"Rach!" Quinn answered.

"Well, hey, stranger!"

Quinn smiled to herself. Rachel had been her best friend since moving to New York. They hadn't gotten on particularly well in high school, but now, they were inseparable.

"What's new with you then, Fabray?"

Quinn took a deep breath, fiddling nervously with a strand of hair that had come loose from her bun.

"I, uh…I j-just got back from the doctors, actually."

"Quinn?"

Quinn could hear the fear and concern in Rachel's voice. God, her best friend already had so much to worry about, she didn't want to add more to her plate. But she knew Rachel would fly off the handle if she didn't tell her ASAP about her current predicament.

"I, um, have cancer."

A moment of silence, then:

"Oh my God, Quinn. Holy fucking shit, holy shit, holy shit." Rachel never swore. Quinn started to panic.

"Rach, calm down…"

"Quinn. I cannot be calm. How you're not running around shrieking is beyond me, and I applaud your bravery, brava, seriously. Oh, God, Quinn."

"I know, I know. Shit, Rach, you're freaking out more than me." Quinn let out a shaky chuckle. It sounded forced and unnatural, so she stopped and cringed.

"Lets go out tonight." Rachel replied, her voice confident and unwavering.

"Out?"

"Yeah. Take your mind off things. My treat."

"Fine, but no gay bars. I'm not having a repeat of last time."


	2. Chapter 2

**Thank you so much to everyone who's reviewed/favourited/followed this fic, it means so much! I thought I'd give you all a little more of a back story – everything is pretty much canon, apart from a few things – Quinn was never a cheerleader, although Santana always was, so they were never really friends, meaning Quinn was in Glee Club, but Santana wasn't. Also, Quinn did end up pregnant, but there's more to come with that, so I won't spoil it for you! Also, quick disclaimer – I have no idea what happens at strip clubs, so this is completely fictional, and just things I've picked up from various TV shows and movies! Despite that, enjoy this next chapter! Oh and sorry for such late updates! I'm incredibly busy at the moment, but I'll try and upload fairly regularly.**

* * *

There are some things you can just never forget, whether you want to, or not.

Like losing your first tooth.

Or like losing your virginity.

Your first kiss.

Your first detention.

That time you fell off a tree and broke your arm.

The first time you're told you're worthless.

And the second time.

And the third.

And the thousandth.

Santana never forgot any of those things. She lost her first tooth when she was 5. Lost her virginity to Noah Puckerman when she was 13. Her first kiss was to Finn Hudson when she was 8. She got her first detention at the age of 6. Probably.

The first time she was told she was worthless? She was 10. It came from her father.

It was 11pm. Friday. April the 15th. It was unnaturally warm for Ohio, and Santana had her duvet kicked away from her, her body curled up so her thighs were tucked up by her chest. Her father was late. Again. Obviously drinking, like he seemed to do every night, but she could clearly hear her mom pacing the kitchen floor downstairs, talking out loud to herself about how the traffic must be awful, or how he must be dealing with some major crisis at work. She couldn't understand why her mother was being so blind, and why she didn't say anything about her dad's frequent late nights.

She soon figured out why. A door opening. A slam. Then –

"Why the fuck are you still up? Are you an idiot? Stupid whore."

Santana tensed, her eyes screwing shut tighter.

"I said, shut the fuck up! Can't you hear me? Are you deaf? Dumb bitch."Her father's voice rang out through the otherwise silent house, accusing, aggressive. Terrifying.

Santana thought it was all over, until she heard footsteps on the stairs. She immediately grabbed her duvet, pulling it tight over her head, hoping, praying, her father would go straight to the bathroom. A night of him vomiting would be better than him in her room. She had never heard him so angry.

Her door was flung open, the light from the hallway flooding in. Santana lay completely still, hoping he'd just go. Her duvet was thrown back, and she flinched, wrapping her arms around her legs tightly, hiding her face in her knees. A strong hand pulled her arm, breaking her own grip on her limbs.

Suddenly, she was on the floor, her cheek pressed against the cool laminated wood. Then came the hits. And the kicks.

That was the first time her father beat her up. Yet another thing she'd never forget.

"You disgust me. You're worthless. Nothing. You will never amount to anything." He spat, as Santana lay sprawled on the floor, her ribs aching.

Then he was gone, and she breathed out carefully, not daring to move.

Those were the sorts of things she'd remember while her name, well, her stage name, was being yelled by a crowd of random men, probably all with wives, or girlfriends. Maybe even kids. She hoped those men never treated their kids like her dad treated her. She hoped they tucked their kids in at night, and read them stories, and taught them to ride a bike, and told them they loved them. How much they were worth.

"Cleo, Cleoooo!"

Various catcalls from every which way. She didn't bother turning her head to look for the different speakers. She just continued to 'do her thing', trying to empty her mind of everything.

Once the girls had all danced on stage, and around the poles, for about 20 minutes, whilst a bunch of guys tipped them and 'made it rain', they dispersed into the crowd to try and earn extra money. Santana hated this part. She hated getting up close to the grimy men, feeling them 'accidentally' swipe their sweaty palms across her exposed thighs or stomach. It made her skin crawl. She'd much rather just dance, but as the most popular dancer, her boss explained to her, if she got 'up close and personal' with the patrons (cringe) she'd earn twice the amount of money the other girls got. Santana couldn't argue with that.

She carefully picked her way through the crowd of seated men, waiting for one of them to just stop groping and actually call her over, cash in hand. The one thing worse than the 'crowd surfing', as her boss called it, was the private rooms. Sex was strictly off-limits, as were most other sexual acts, but that didn't stop the guys getting a little extra handsy now they were alone. It made Santana feel sick, and she hated it. But she couldn't get out.

She was trapped.

* * *

"You good?" Quinn asked, eying Rachel as they sat in the backseat of the cab. She had noticed her best friend hadn't stopped fidgeting for a good 10 minutes. "We can always go home-"

"No, no. We're doing this. Sorry, sorry. I'm just a little nervous. No worries, though. I'll be fine. Woo, strip club." Rachel did an awkward, almost pathetic, little jig, and Quinn grimaced.

"Jeez, Rach. You know, when you said 'out', I thought you meant to a bar. Or a club. Not a strip club."

"Hey, it'll be fun! A first for us both! And, although it'll be filled with naked women, I will have a good time. I reckon you'll enjoy it more than me, though." The brunette grinned at Quinn. She sighed, nodding and remembering her coming out. She was 16. She was scared. It had taken her 2 years to really accept her sexuality. 2 years, various boyfriends, and 1 pregnancy, for her to finally tell Rachel she was gay. They hadn't even been that close at the time, but she knew, if she could trust anyone, she could trust Rachel. Open-minded, loyal, trustworthy Rachel. They had soon become best friends, and Quinn had finally begun to feel alright again.

The cab came to a stop, and Quinn swear Rachel died for about a second, before coming back to life and hurriedly paying the driver. They stepped out onto the pavement, Rachel's legs visibly shaking. Jesus.

"Rach, calm down. It's just a strip club, okay? Right, come on." Quinn reassured her, before taking charge and leading her friend into the tall building, complete with purple neon signs telling them that Cheetahs was the place to go for the hottest girls in New York.

The music nearly deafened them both immediately, the heavy, booming bass causing their teeth to chatter. Quinn had to fight the urge to grab Rachel's hand and run the fuck out of there. She just kept her head down, and kept walking, following the purple velvet carpet that led them to the main area. She tentatively looked up, her eyes suddenly attacked by the flashing neon that seemed to be everywhere.

"Where shall we sit?" Rachel yelled over the heavy beat of whatever shit song was on. It was pretty packed. Well, they did apparently have the hottest girls in New York. Quinn scanned the room, shielding her eyes from the glaring strobe lights. She latched onto Rachel's arm and pulled her quickly through the boisterous crowd to a sit near the middle. A good view, but hidden. Perfect. They sat down quickly, huddled together against the rowdy men surging forward.

Quinn could make out nine slender, lithe silhouettes gyrating on stage, much to the pleasure of the crowd. They moved independently, fairly spaced out, with different moves. However, they were all somehow so in sync, all dancing to the heavy beat of the song. It was, well, mesmerizing.

"D'ya want a drink?" Rachel damn near shouted over the music, causing Quinn to jump. She quickly nodded before turning her head back to face the stage. There was one girl, the main one, she seemed to be, who was incredible. Quinn couldn't keep her eyes off of her, following her as she moved gracefully from one side of the stage to the other. She could see why she was the center of attention.

Suddenly, the girls were making their way off the stage, to go through the crowd. Quinn had researched strip clubs before their trip; she guessed they were going around, earning extra money. A couple of girls swept past her, but not her favourite. She craned her neck, trying to spot her. Sure, she had only seen a silhouette of her, but she knew if she saw her, she'd know immediately.

There she was. A few tables away. She had her back to Quinn, but she couldn't mistake the way her body swayed, long, black hair trickling down her back. Maybe the strip club visit was a good plan after all…she'd have to thank Rach later. Oh God, she was coming over. Oh God. Shit, would it be weird if Quinn paid her just for being a gorgeous dancer? Yeah, probably. She pressed her fingernails into her knees, keeping her eyes on the girl. Oh God, okay, she was a few tables in front now. Quinn ducked her head, not feeling worthy of even looking at her so close. She trained her eyes on the shoes of the girl. Fuck, how did she even walk in those, let alone dance?! She was moving closer, and closer…Did Quinn dare to look up? She tentatively raised her head, her eyes dragging up the girl's body. They locked eyes, and-

"Santana!?"

"Quinn!?"

Oh shit.


	3. Chapter 3

**All the reviews/faves/follows are amazing, thank you all so much! Just pointing out – I'm writing this story with no real planning. I'm just going with the flow, so even I have no idea how it'll end! Guess it'll be a surprise for us all when we get there!**

* * *

_"Are-are you okay?" _

_Santana looked up, her eyes resting on some blonde chick stood a few feet away. She sniffed loudly, wiping at her eyes._

_"Yeah."_

_She turned away again, her vision blurring again. Fuck. _

_"Y-you sure? Are you crying?" The blonde's voice was hushed, concerned. Santana scowled, turning back round and glaring at her through tear filled eyes._

_"I said I was okay, okay?" She snapped. "Jesus, who the fuck even are you?"  
"Uh…Quinn…we're in Glee Club together…"  
"Shit, yeah. Sorry. You just don't interest me." Santana shrugged, regarding Quinn carefully. It was a lie. Quinn _did _sort of interest her – she was quiet, reserved, easily forgettable. But she was also probably the prettiest girl Santana had ever seen. Apart from herself, maybe. She was obviously not going to mention it to Quinn, though. _

_"It's fine. I get it a lot." Quinn shrugged, dumping her bag on the floor and hopping onto the sink next to Santana. The school toilets were definitely not the most glamorous location, but it was empty, and quiet, which Santana needed. She had had enough of everything, and everyone. Which is why she was just a little bit pissed that Quinn decided to sit down with her, as if they were going to have some sort of heart-to-heart.  
"What are you doing?"  
"Sitting down." Quinn answered matter-of-factly, placing her hands in her lap, her legs crossed. It was slightly uncomfortable, but her mother had always taught her to sit that way, so it had become of a second nature to her. _

_"Karofsky's a jerk." The blonde said after a few beats of silence. Santana nodded, taking a shaky breath. She cursed herself inwardly for being so emotional.  
"Yeah."_

_"You're not a slut." _

_Santana whipped her head round fast, narrowing her eyes at the other girl, who stared back at her with a blank face. She would've thought, of all people, Quinn Fabray, AKA the perfect poster child of the god-fearing Russell and Judy Fabray, who was the only member (aside from Miss Pillsbury) of the Chastity Club, would've thought she was a slut. A grade-A slut. But here she was, proving Santana wrong. She almost felt bad for previously saying she found Quinn uninteresting._

_Santana sniffed, wiping at her eyes one last time. _

_"Yeah, sure."_

_"I'm being serious._

_"You're just saying that." Santana sighed, shaking her head sadly. Sure, she knew people called her 'slut' or 'whore' behind her back. She was used to the dirty looks, the whispers from mainly girls, but sometimes boys too. No one had ever had the nerve to call her a slut to her face, so to have Karofsky do it, completely out of the blue, had hurt a lot more than It should've. She knew she wasn't exactly pure. She had lost her virginity as soon as possible, when she was 14. She hadn't had sex since then. People made up shit. Boys would make a move, but she'd reject them, and they'd spread stuff about her, making rumours up about how far they went. People will believe anything. _

_"No, I'm not. You're not a slut. Or a whore," Quinn moved closer to Santana, until her face was inches away from her own. Santana could smell Quinn's breath; she must have been chewing gum earlier, it smelt minty. Not important, Santana, not important. _Focus. _"The stuff they say, about you, I mean…is-is any of it actually _true_?" The blonde breathed. Santana sighed, leaning back till her head rested on the mirror. The sink's tap dug into her back uncomfortably, but she barely noticed it. _

_"No."_

_"I didn't think so. And that's why you're not a slut. Hey, San, look at me." _

_Santana flinched at the sound of her nickname. No one called her that. Not even Britt – she called her Tana. Nobody had called her San, not since her mom stopped-_

_"What did you just call me?" She hissed, raising her head from its position against the mirror. Quinn pulled away, struggling to speak. _

_"I-uh, San?"_

_"Thought so," Santana replied sharply, jumping off the sink and grabbing her bag in one swift motion. Quinn stayed sitting, watching her in confusion.  
"Wait, what? What have I done?"_

_Santana rolled her eyes and whipped around to face the other girl, who's face was stuck in a state of puzzlement. _

_"Nothing. You did nothing. It's fine. I'll see you in Glee, I suppose," She turned to walk out the door, but stopped just before, one hand on the handle. She bit her lip, her eyes travelling from Quinn's ballet flat-clad feet to her hazel eyes, that took Santana aback even from where she was stood, which was a good eight feet away. "Don't talk to me in Glee. Just because you said I wasn't a slut, doesn't mean we're automatically friends. It doesn't work that way."_

_And with that, she was gone, and Quinn was stuck between feeling hurt, angry and still slightly confused._

* * *

The VIP rooms were incredibly luxurious – big, plush sofas, adorned with sequined or fluffy pillows. There was a large purple furry throw on the floor that you practically sunk into if you stepped onto it. The room was tinted purple, giving everything a darker feel. It was surprisingly cozy for being in a strip club. Santana didn't go back there often, as her boss usually told her to stay in the crowds; as she was the most popular, she'd get the post money from punters, and he couldn't afford to have her hiding in the back room. That was fine by Santana, as she hated being with men in the VIP room. She felt so awkward, and the room was near enough sound proof, so everything was too silent, and she could practically hear Rachel Berry and Karofksy's, (and everybody else who insulted her) voices in her head.

Quinn was taken aback by the room. She was expecting something a lot…seedier than the room she was currently stood in.

"Why is this room so nice?"

Santana snorted, locking the door behind them as Quinn continued inside the room. It was spacious, too.

"I get asked that every time I'm back here. Which, for the record, is not often."

Quinn nodded, still drinking in the room. She sat herself down on the sofa, pleasantly surprised at the comfort factor. She leant back, leaning against one of the fluffy pillows.

"Listen…I, uh…" Santana began, not really knowing what to say. After the awkward 'reunion', Santana had immediately dragged Quinn away to the VIP room. She wasn't sure why, but she felt like they needed to talk. However, now they were in the room, the words wouldn't come out.

"This is sort of very, very awkward, right?" Quinn sighed, biting her lip. She sat up, watching Santana intently. She had never seen the girl so vulnerable. Obviously, they hadn't seen in other in – what? 5 years or so? But still, she remembered the hardened barrier Santana had up 24/7. Except for that one time in the girl's toilets…but she thought it best to never bring that up. Ever.

"Just a bit," Santana rubbed her arms nervously, suddenly aware of how exposed she was, both physically and emotionally. "I know what you're probably thinking. Your previous thoughts that I'm not a slut have probably gone out the window by now."

"Don't be silly," Quinn replied softly, looking up at Santana through her eyelashes. She looked back down at the fluffy throw, shaking her head and laughing slightly. "You're not a slut. I stand by that fact." _Even since that time in the bathroom _she wanted to add, but held her tongue. She wasn't sure how Santana would react. Close up, probably. Like she did before.

"What are you even doing here?" Santana suddenly asked, sitting herself down on the sofa, a safe distance from Quinn. "Isn't it, like, sin for Christians to go to strip clubs or something?" Quinn chuckled, shrugging.

"I don't know. I guess I've changed a lot since high school."

Santana could agree with that one. She looked Quinn up and down, noticing how she still looked fairly innocent, like always, but there was something different about her. A spark. Of what, she didn't know. There was something definitely not different from high school, though – Quinn's looks. She was still as strikingly beautiful as before, but Santana had to shove that thought straight out of her head.

"Do you like it here?" Quinn asked, tilting her head to watch Santana's reaction. The brunette paused for a moment, chewing her bottom lip thoughtfully. Did she? Well, no, she didn't. She hated it. She hated the way it made her feel – like a piece of meat, only good for her body, nothing else. She hated the way it proved Rachel Berry right. She hated the way it proved everyone who ever called her a slut right. But at the same time…she loved it. She loved how she was wanted there, how she was the _most _wanted out of all of the girls. Sure, it was only for her body, but at least they wanted her for something. She couldn't begin to explain the feeling when she got on stage, and all eyes were on her.

There was no better feeling than being wanted.

"I-I don't know." Santana stuttered. She couldn't be bothered to explain her conflicting feelings. Quinn wouldn't understand anyway, _her _father had never told her she was worthless,_ her _mother had never completely forgotten she even had a daughter. Santana's had.

Quinn nodded silently, her eyes still trained on Santana's face. Even in the dim, purple light, Quinn could see how beautiful she was. How sad she was. She wanted nothing more than for Santana to open up, spill her heart and tell Quinn everything. To let Quinn _in_, and not shut her out again. She wasn't sure why, seeing as they had never, ever been close. But something about the other girl intrigued Quinn. She was the master, or rather, mistress, of deception. One minute, she was crying in the bathroom, the next, she was cutting people with her razor sharp words. She was honestly the most complex person Quinn had ever come across.

"I better go, you know, Rachel's probably worried…"

"_Rachel?! _Rachel Berry?! Jesus, this night just keeps getting weirder." Santana breathed, her head falling into her hands. Quinn stood awkwardly, moving toward the door. Did she say bye? Oh, for fuck's sake.

"Wait." Quinn's hand was on the door, ready to leave swiftly. She turned round, Santana sat on the edge of the sofa, her eyes wide and pleading. "Meet me soon. Please. For coffee, or something. I don't mind. I just-I just feel we have a lot to catch up on."

Quinn's breath caught in her throat, but she managed to nod and croak out an agreement.

"That sounds good."

"How's this Friday? Say…1pm? At Starbucks. Incredibly cliché but theirs is the only coffee I like."  
Quinn smiled, and she swear she saw Santana's mouth upturn at the corners too, if only for a split second.

"I'll be there."

* * *

"Where the fuck were you Quinn? I thought you had left without me! Or bought a stripper!" Rachel damn neared screamed when Quinn returned to their table.  
"Jeez, relax, Rach. When a girl's gotta pee, a girl's gotta pee." She shrugged nonchalantly. Rachel sighed and stood.

"Time to go?"

"Time to go, little one." Quinn giggled, patting her best friend on the head affectionately.

They exited arm-in-arm, battling through the crowd which seemed to have doubled in size since their arrival. They burst out onto the street, the cool wind whipping past them immediately, causing Rachel to shiver.

"Ugh, I am so tired. That place just made me drowsy…must be the l-lighting." Rachel yawned, resting her head on Quinn's shoulder as the blonde hailed a cab. They tumbled in, and Quinn decided to take Rachel back to her place. She wasn't sure the poor girl would even make it up the stairs without collapsing out of pure exhaustion.

The cab came to a stop just outside of Quinn's apartment, and she quickly paid the driver before tugging Rachel out. She helped her inside, up the stairs, and in her apartment.

"Come on, Rach, you can sleep in my bed." Quinn whispered, guiding the smaller girl to her bed, where she collapsed immediately. The blonde chuckled, grabbed her pyjamas, then backed out the room, quietly closing the door behind her. She changed quickly, before falling onto the sofa, only just realizing how tired she also was. Before allowing herself to fall asleep, she added a quick date to her iPhone calendar.

**Meeting Santana Starbucks. 1pm. Friday 28th March. **

Quinn placed her phone on the table, before letting her head fall on the cushion, and falling asleep.


End file.
